Sometime later, Joey winds his way through the crowd, heading for my table. I shove the kid off my lap—he gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and disappears as Joey slides into the chair across from me. “Who’s your friend?” my brother asks.
I shrug. With a nod at the brunette he left on the dance floor, I counter, “Who’s yours?”
“Teresa.” He rolls the r as he reaches for the second mug of beer, as yet untouched. “This for me?” I nod and he downs the drink in one long swallow. Signaling for another, he asks, “Don’t you dance?”
“I’m pretty good at the horizontal bop,” I joke.
He laughs as the bartender brings us fresh mugs. “And it’s back to s*x again.”
I watch him down his beer. If it tastes a bit funny to him, he doesn’t say anything. There’s more than Budweiser in that mug, though—I h
